The Perfect Coffin

The Perfect Coffin

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Tags

Summary

A hot night between a young man and elderly lady

Tags

Summary

A hot night between a young man and elderly lady

Content

Submitted: July 17, 2015

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: July 17, 2015

A A A

A A A


Long before the age of “likes” on Facebook and “I wonder if they have an app for that” (free porn), Neal Lloyd was just perfectly content with little to no interaction with his family. With the coming of the brain dead, swipy-thumb generation came the dawn of too much personal information. Your crush in middle school knows what you’ve been up to since you added each other online 8 years ago, but you‘ve never spoken a word to each other in your lives. Your loathed cousins have alerted the entire world that everyone else in the family except for you is having a battle royale over Grandma’s inheritance. There’s also a $2 taco pack deal at the local Mexican food place.

Who gets the house? Who gets the hardly souped-up ‘70 Mustang? Who fucking cares? Neal couldn’t care less. So it was on this day that Neal set out to converse agonizingly about inheritance rights and who gets their grubby hands on poor withered little grandma’s stuff.

He drifted along in his dinged up black Accord, grunge mix playing on the faulty CD player, just to hope to drain the dread out of his brain before the chaos that was sure to ensue enfolded onto the local unsuspecting nursing home.

Not 20 minutes later, cousin Craig was tall and hulky as ever, towering over the wheelchair, oxygen tank carnage surrounding him. The same cousin who always pushed Neal around during play, when they were kids.

“I wanna play too!”

“No, this is my water gun.”

Like he was 2 years old. Always patronizing. Always controlling. A fake side-hug, and “’Sup bro?” uttered through the arrogant show-off lips of his alleged kin.

Half-assed greetings, more back-pats from the so-called wiser of the family. Weepy eyes. Kleenex serving as makeup remover in combination with tear absorbent. Mom and Dad.

“Hi, Mom and Dad. I made it!”

The grieving of viewing the eldest lady who they all grew up with was surprisingly awkward. Macho Craig crossed his arms insecure-fashion. Neal shoved his hands in his pockets as he sat and waited for the “time with the body” everyone was so bent on to come to an end. This was the furthest thing he wanted right at that moment. Because once you’re dead, you’re dead and gone. There’s no life in your body anymore. It’s nothing but a body, unless maybe in the future, cloning becomes a tool to keep our clones around when our time is up, which would do more harm than good and try to make clones of ourselves into super humans, with skill levels up to Jupiter for all the pressure that will be on us to be bigger, badder, stronger! And then who even is Grandma anymore? Did she really even love any of us? Which clone has the ability to love? Which one isn’t an arrogant sociopath who turns evil? Grandma would be a super mega Hulk who destroys buildings and robs banks to feed her fellow convicts. An endless feed of money. Sounds like the real world.

Neal smiled momentarily as he pictured his tiny kind grandmother, gigantic and as muscular as The Hulk.

Amidst waiting and mindless chatter, a nursing home resident scooted along, venturing across the entire lobby room to greet Neal.

“She was a lively lady,” she said, viewing the casket. “No one saw it coming.”

“Yeah,” Neal agreed, with a faint polite smile.

“She’s with the angels now,” she reassured.

Neal nodded, with a mock-smile. ‘I don’t like those recycled lines,’ he thought.

Inside he was groaning.

After what felt like an hour of bullshit supportive “family time,” Old Lady decided to announce that she needed fresh air. “I’ll join you,” Neal jumped at the opportunity.

He followed her to a hallway across the lobby which led to a resident-visitor patio with decorative plants and an apocalyptic sunset beyond the guard railing. You could see buildings on display, like a photographer’s wet dream, silhouetted in front of clouds like smoke, and the sun’s rays created the illusion of a city on fire.

They sat together, by a concrete planter, viewing the fellow residents. One was smoking a Virginia Slim, despite her oxygen tank, no doubt needed to begin with because of poisonous smoke inhalation. The smell of dank reefer emanated throughout the patio, but no sign of blazing was within eyesight. Bird chirps exclaimed the existence and persistence of day time, casting a positive mood on the patio balcony’s patrons. The cool breeze outside was a blessing, but Neal could only picture the comfort of his bed at home, unmade, in shambles, fluffy clean white comforter. This sleepless, groggy day could not drag on any slower.

Another elder and his visitors scooted out--man on walker, son accompanied by hopping, rambunctious toddler. Just the sight of such a wired unruly kid annoyed Neal. For some reason he could see no reason to be so happy. He never felt as happy as people and children like this. He couldn’t see any reason to be either, though he wished he could. Sure, he missed his grandma, and inside he cried for her even if it didn‘t show. But it was a prevalent downtrodden aura that he wished could be cured with magic.

“They have some tomatoes growing out here that look to be coming in big,” Old Lady pointed out. Neal hadn’t even noticed the bright red tomatoes on the door’s wall.

“Oh, yeah,” he speculated. “Those are big.”

After a moment’s silence, Old Lady let out a sigh. That sigh that says ‘Uhf, it’s been a rough life.’

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m going stir crazy here… I’m about to hit up a young stud from Craigslist and buy a ticket to Hawaii.”

Neal politely chuckled. “Where’s your family?”

“Ah, they took me here a year ago because I’m crazy. I don’t think it’s crazy to not go through surgery because the results could be worse than what I began with, but… to each their own.”

“So just because you refused surgery you didn’t have a home anymore?” Neal wondered if he was overstepping his boundaries.

“That’s right on the money,” she said, with a finger pointing. “Just because I know I don’t got much time left, so I don’t put no more stress on my kids, they up and left me here. I lost my husband in ’05 so I didn’t really have no place to go… Suddenly I’m bedridden with this awful leg that don’t do me no good, and it’s either amputate or ’get the hell out.’”

“Why don’t they make you get it surgically fixed here?”

“Oh, they fight you tooth and nail to get that shit fixed, but how are you gonna make a person pay for health insurance who don’t got none?”

Neal nodded his agreement.

“So I spend the last of my days in this hellhole, people looking like walking skeletons left and right… and it’s more depressing than anything. I want to live my life!”

“While you still have it,” Neal added, conclusively.

Wildly Rollicking Kid happily wiggled its butt as it played on an iPad at the lunch benches set up outside, probably launching birds at bricks or tapping on fruits for mind-numbing activity, or checking its stocks or whatever the fuck iPads do.

“I don’t blame you for being all sullen around here. No one wants to be around a bunch of old people, except for other old people! But not me. No, sirree. I’d rather be down the road at Burger World, at the very least.” She gave a jubilant laugh.

“I could go for a burger right now,” Neal said, with a lazy, daydreaming look in his eyes.

“Say… how about you and me blow this joint and go have us some number 2 combos? On me!” The lady tapped him on the shoulder with a fist as she flashed her silver teeth at him.

Neal gave a “pondering” gesture to her, as if to say “let me think for 2 and a half seconds.”

Suddenly, I’m drunk now.

So then Neal is like, “Yeah. Definitely.” He nods sullenly as he stands up and takes Old Lady’s hand and is like “Madam?”

The lady can surprisingly walk again. Her bandaged knee, too gruesome to look at, is wobbly at a start, but she supports herself on it--body shaped like a pear--booty shaped like a apple.

Neal and his lady do a little dance as a hurrah and then they walk hand in hand to the front door of the nursing home. Although, Lady can’t make it too far and then she has to bend over saying, “Oh! Too much,” and Neal ran back to retrieve her trusty wheelchair.

Ignoring his grieving, silently crying family in the corner, Neal wheeled his new Granny to the local burger joint happily smiling, shoulders back, chin up. He proceeded down the street when all of a sudden, this new relationship dawned on him like an anvil falling on his head. ‘Wait!’ he thought. ‘I can just do whatever I want with this lady?’ He walked slower as he gather his thoughts. Pushed the cross-walk button. Waited, with his weight on one leg. ‘I can just totally try to romanticize her. After all, she is a widow.”

“So, what would your husband think about you going out with a young guy such as myself?” Neal asked, as he proceeded crossing the street.

Granny chuckled, and responded, without looking back, “He would throw a shit-fit, but who cares? He ain’t around no more! Neither is anybody at the home telling me what to do!”

Neal laughed in response. “I’m glad we have the blessing that is cheeseburgers to bring us together on this fine day of mourning.”

Neal felt increasingly more cheerful as he walked. Only moments from the door of indulgence, a young girl in a visor and a Burger World uniform greeted them with a “Hello!” and held the glass door open for them. Neal pushed his lady in and waited in line for a turn to order.

“Two number 2’s, you said?”

“Yes, and no mustard on mine… and I would like lettuce and tomato on the side, not in the burger,” she specified. Always picky. Always precise. Too OCD about it. “It falls in your lap otherwise,” she said with a wink.

Neal ordered quick and parked Grandma at the nearest booth and started to get napkins, in a hurry. As he sat down, he said, “I would really like to know you. Like, on a different level. I know little about you and I wish we were on a friendship level, you know what I mean?” He winks at the old lady, who kindly smiles back, sipping her complementary mini water cup. After a ‘tut, tut’ and licking her lips, she says, “Well, son, we’ll have to see what happens next, won’t we?” With big blue eyes, Neal took that asa challenge. ‘Is she flirting with me?’ he thought. ‘You dog, you!’ he told himself, with a hair-ruffle and a shy smile.

In no time, their burgers arrived and they chowed down on processed cheese and salted potatoes. Creamy special-sauce-covered beef patties with buns crisped to perfection.

Neal guzzled down the last of his chocolate shake and slouched, laid-back and nonchalant. “So where’s the after party?” he asked, picking his teeth.

A group of teenagers, excited for the weekend, chattered their mindless drivel across the walkway, constantly looking at their phones. Swiping their greasy swipy fingers, babbling over Tweet posts.

“Haha” Granny audibly laughed. “I was hoping at your house.”

‘Okay, she’s into me,’ Neal thought. “How about… whoever eats the last of their fries first wins? If I win, we go back to the nursing home. But if you win, we go to my place.”

Without hesitation, Granny said, “It’s on!” with a fist pump.

“Okay, on the count of three… One… two… three!”

They both shoveled fries in their mouths, three at a time, Neal slower than Grandma, but they both wanted it the same. When Grandma won, Neal just smiled his surrender and chewed on one last fry. “You beat me!” He shrugged.

Back at home, Grandma laid relaxed and calm in the fluffy cloud pillow fortress of Neal’s bed. “This is all I’ve ever wanted,” she cooed, chocolate milk glass in hand.

“Yeah? You like it?” Neal coaxed her.

“Come here and show me what you young studs are good for these days.”

Neal delved between Grandma’s thighs. Between cloud linens. Above his detergent-smelling cum-stained bed. She moaned prematurely, a throaty deep coo that only comes from the most sex-starved ancient cougars on Earth. Neal pet her overhang with his long bony white fingers as his tongue found its way into the dry, shaven, splintery woodwork of the Netherlands, tasting like mold on a moistened wooden plank. He flicked his tongue like a snake, back and forth and sending floppy vaginal labia heretofore and henceforth. Grandma’s moans echoed loud and clear throughout the apartment, with low, melodic guitar solos playing on the iHome iPod player in the background, mute in comparison.

Before too long, he thrust his throbbing young cock into the swamp nest that was her coccoon. Deep and long, he felt secured and pre-ejaculate flowed evenly, intertwined with hers. “Don’t worry, I’m not young enough to breathe,” Grandma whispered.


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